You May Be The Type To Want A Century To Roll By... A Simple Trek To Another Bold Year, With Out The Interest Of An Aeon For BreakFast Cereal Boxed Prizes And Left Over Milk... Sugary And Lumpy... The Crinkleing Of NewsPaper And The Clinking Of Spoon Hitting The InSide Of A Chipped Mug... Throat Clearing AWay The Drone Of LawnMowers, Cicadas Grinding Out Their Final Clicks To The Auditions Of Dead Wooded Spirits ALoft In The Fadeing Morning Covers... Of Fallen Leaves... Mulch Empires... The Cool Spaces Under Concrete...
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I Want A Sensible Jury To Stand In... Net Worth Is For The Fishes... A Boat For My Liveing Leg- Never The Wooden Legend, To Watch The Drowning Of Whores In The Ether... Those Broken-Armed Drama Kinks Seeking A Barnacled Hold UpOn My Life... To Cut ASide And Burn Off A Leeching Presence... To Stab InTo The White Octopus And Rip Out Its Ability To Count ItSelf Lucky... To Be Put ASleep By Spiders... Then To Be AWoken By The Sounds Of A Distant Ocean...
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Now Closer... Closer Than The Calming Trinkets Of Knotting WindMills And Pompous Lips...
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A Way To The Simpler Times... The Half Eaten Measure Of Rythym Not Kneaded InTo Shape By The Passing Over By The Machines Of Equilibrium...
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If You Lack The Ability To Only Be One Thing And One Thing Only... Try Laying UpOn The Grass, In The Lapse Of Moonlight And Ration... And Let That Which You Might Be Stealing To Be... Be Left To The Days Forgotten... To Rot... And Stay BeFore Nights BeGotten From Decades Seeping InTo The Soil's Workings...
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